Nostalgia
by mytsie
Summary: Spock sat, loosely cross legged, on the floor just aside from his meditation alcove. His eyes were closed, his brow furrowed, and his fingers were wrapped tentatively around the sloping neck and dainty bow of a musical instrument.


_Disclaimer: If I owned Star Trek, I'm sure someone would have let me know by now._

_AN: One of several vignettes written for a meme. I would like to note that my knowledge of all things Vulcan is made up, predominantly, of bullshit and chips. Just getting that one out there. The instrument he's playing is supposed to be similar to an Erhu, but I pictured a Shamisen in my brain...ah well. Inspired by the meme and the soundtrack of STXI._

Nostalgia.

She leaned against the alcove as she lingered in the doorway.

Spock's quarters were traditionally very utilitarian, as was his wont, but they'd transformed drastically since the destruction of his—well, his native world. It began with a geometrically patterned cushion and a robe for meditative purposes. The black silk wasn't particularly Vulcan, but the cut and seaming were unmistakable. After the robe, several other articles of clothing trickled into his personal wardrobe—that he even had a personal wardrobe was a new concept for Nyota Uhura. Occasionally, he acquired a trinket, and placed them in unconsciously nostalgic arrangements along his walls. He collected a series of books, a set of three matching lamps, a knock-off of a statue he'd called the Arc triad, and a wicker chair—she'd sat in it once and he explained that it reminded him of his mother's favorite chair. She never risked sitting in it again.

The Enterprise had inadvertently captured an Andorian smuggler's ship during their last official mission. The man had been smuggling artifacts and luxury items from a cavalcade of worlds, several of which were distinctly Vulcan. The Captain had set those aside from the evidence, claiming something about important cultural phenomenon to be protected, or some-such cover-up, and had entrusted them to Spock's care. Of the lot of it, he'd taken a distinct interest in the musical instruments in the group, and had carefully—lovingly, if it could be termed such—packed them and stored them in his own living space, away from the other items. Until she'd seen them, Uhura had been unaware that Vulcan had any particular liberal artistic culture. Sure, it made sense that any culture would have its occasional artistic lilts, but Vulcan? The words for Beauty and Music were shockingly similar to Six-sided and Ordered-Sequentially in all Vulcan dialects.

As she hovered by the door, however, she went decidedly unnoticed by the man inside.

Spock sat, loosely cross legged, on the floor just aside from his meditation alcove. His eyes were closed, his brow furrowed, and his fingers were wrapped tentatively around the sloping neck and dainty bow of a musical instrument. Uhura didn't recognize the particular design, but she didn't suppose she should. He drew the bow across the twin strings and drew a long, whining note. As he twisted his wrist to draw it back, the instrument wailed uncooperatively and she could see his cheek twitch with irritation.

"That looks difficult," Uhura commented and his eyes were already directed toward her when he opened them. "What is it?"

"The proper name is...complicated," Spock replied as she stepped into his quarters and the door slid shut behind her. She arched an eyebrow, but he said nothing—she spoke Vulcan as well as he. Maybe he didn't know the name, or didn't remember it.

"It's beautiful," Uhura admitted as she took a seat on the geometric cushion beside him. He didn't stop her, so apparently there was no taboo. The instrument was propped against the floor and, even leaned back at a perfect thirty degree angle against his shoulder, it was taller than his torso by a good foot and a half. The base was drum-like with a strangely monotone reptilian skin pulled across it, and it tapered quickly to a thin, stick like neck. "Do you know how to play it?"

"Unfortunately, no," Spock admitted as he drew the bow across the strings evenly. "Of the instruments reclaimed, this one escapes my childhood training."

"I didn't know you played," Uhura admitted with a small smile.

"The _Kuxina_ and the _T'Susha,_" Spock admitted and Uhura cocked her head to the side. He played the lyre and a flute, apparently, and yet she'd never heard him so much as hum a note.

"Do you not enjoy them?" Uhura asked tentatively and Spock closed his eyes as he drew the bow across the two strings. The first string warbled and the second hummed in unison for a few seconds until, probably due to some flaw in the bowstring, they both shrieked. Uhura winced and was glad Spock couldn't see her expression.

"They were a part of my perfunctory education," Spock explained and moved the bow incrementally higher on the neck of the instrument—the difference in the pitch of the notes was extreme and they sang cheerfully. "Whether they were particularly enlightening or not, it was deemed fit that all children should be made aware of their existence and functionality."

"But not this one?" Uhura asked and Spock stopped moving.

With measured slowness, he pulled the bow away from the instrument and set it, almost gingerly, on the floor before him. He took a deep breath, removed his index finger and thumb from the top of the instrument, and slid them down the graceful arch of the neck until his hand rested on the bowl. He opened his eyes halfway, exhaled the breath he'd taken, and looked at Uhura for several seconds before speaking. As she stared at him, she'd almost wished she hadn't asked.

"No," he said softly, "This instrument is...very traditional."

"Oh?" Uhura prompted and Spock stared off at the wall behind her.

"Simultaneous to Surek's writings are several other schools of pragmatic thought. One of his harshest critics was a proponent of the concept of biological and mathematical inter-duplication," Spock elaborated, "Surek's later works reflect the influence of this school of thought, as do.._did_ the predominant forms of art and architecture on Vulcan. This instrument is referred to as _'Kaurek Rano'Yorosha'_, and it is..." he paused and his brows dipped lightly as he considered his words, "unpopular."

"If it's...unpopular, and difficult..." Uhura tried to follow his logic, but came up wanting. "Why are you learning it?"

"I am learning to play this instrument," Spock took a shallow breath and his expression evened out, "Because there is no one left who can." Spock lifted the bow and closed his eyes as he settled back into position. "Only one percent of the population of Vulcan was properly trained, and the only master of the Rano'Yorosha was...killed."

Oh.

Uhura sat in sympathetic silence and listened to the even and occasionally harsh notes as Spock played them. He worked sequentially, logically, adjusting his fingers and the bow in small, identical motions and moving from the top of the instrument toward the base. As she watched him play, single-mindedly learning the sounds it made, she couldn't help but remember piano lessons with her grandmother. Her cousin had attempted to learn the piano as Spock was attempting to learn this instrument—if he knew all the notes it could make, by heart, then he could play music, hopefully. It hadn't worked for him, he'd given up in less than a month, but Spock would keep down that road until he'd traveled its length. At the end, he'd find himself none the richer, but Uhura couldn't think of any alternatives. It was unlikely there was any...did Vulcans use sheet music? In any case, it was an endeavor he was alone in, and it depressed her to think on it.

A long time passed, while she watched him test the limits and preferences of the strings, and eventually Uhura's eyes wandered away. She stared at the gentle, nearly organic geometry of the lamps he'd acquired. The patterns and shapes of the vases and dishes mounted on his walls reminded her of the Chemistry courses she'd taken in elementary school, and soon she was picturing Vulcan very much like her grandmother's home in Kenya. Unconsciously, as she stared at a particularly detailed weave on a fragment of tapestry, Uhura caught a few of the notes Spock had played and started to hum a nonsensical song. Eventually, as her interest in the woven relic faded, she realized that Spock had stopped playing. She turned to find his eyes on her and his brows raised ever so slightly.

"What?" Uhura asked him and he merely arched an eyebrow and glanced down at the instrument in his arms. He frowned and closed his eyes before playing six non-sequential notes in a row. The dip of the two strings and the careful precision with which Spock played the notes filled the space between them with a slow, beautiful melody. "I thought you said you didn't know how to play?" Uhura asked with a smile as he held the final note as long as he could manage.

"Fascinating," he commented lightly and looked up at her. "Would you continue to sing for me, Nyota? It seems your input is most invaluable."

It was Uhura's turn to arch an eyebrow, but when he failed to elaborate she laughed and shrugged. He so rarely asked her to do anything, how could she deny him something so simple?

"Of course, Spock," she said with a smile, and started to sing an old song she'd learned as a child.


End file.
